


Because I Care

by Fuchibi12



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Cuddles, Fluff, Horrifically Sweet marshmallow fluff, M/M, Mother Hen!Napoleon, Sickfic, Still bad at this tagging thing, grumpy Illya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 18:34:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10599774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuchibi12/pseuds/Fuchibi12
Summary: After a rough mission, Napoleon notices something off about his Russian partner. Concerned, he confronts Illya only to be brushed off. So Napoleon just does the normal thing... and breaks into Illya's apartment when he's sleeping.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically just me being lazy and not wanting to update my other fanfiction while wanting to write more of these two morons. This is just straight (haha so far from straight) fluff.

Napoleon's eyes hurt, his head hurt, really, his everything hurt. Their latest mission had been a tough one and while no one ended up seriously injured, none of them got away scott free. Gaby had come away the most unscathed with a sprained ankle and some bruising. Napoleon himself had a cacophony of bruises and some minor cuts, all treated. He had a nice bump on the back of his head, but thankfully, no concussion. Illya had managed to bruise one of his hands quite badly after beating the living hell of a man who had gone after Gaby. He also had his fair share of bruises and Napoleon suspected a cracked rib or two from a particularly nasty fight.

Speaking of said partner, Napoleon was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of a wet cough. The American frowned and looked up from his paper work, the stuff he was _supposed_ to be doing, to look at his partner across the room. Illya sat at his own desk, hunched over and scribbling furiously. Napoleon cocked his head slightly to one side, perhaps it was just him, but the Russian looked a little pale, well, paler than usual. Napoleon watched his partner for a minute or two, the other man continuing to write out his own report, and eventually decided that he was hearing things and looked back down to do his own paper work. Naturally, that was when the sounded again. Napoleon's head shot up in enough time to see Illya drop his hand from his face.

So it was the Russian.

Napoleon thought back to the night Illya spent in the rain during their last mission. Neither Gaby nor Napoleon knew where he had gone until he came back to the safe house soaked to the bone and trying his best to hide his shivering. They had both scolded him on being out in the pouring rain for hours, not to mention the biting chill in the air. So they stripped Illya of his clothes, well, most of them, the man was painfully shy about his body and was really never caught naked. They then proceeded to wrap him up in blankets and seat him near the fireplace so he could warm up. It hadn't taken long before the Russian giant had fallen asleep in his cocoon of blankets. When he awoke the next morning, he informed them that he had pinpointed the mark's secret warehouse and they moved in that night.

That was two days ago. And now, looking across the room, Napoleon could see that Illya, indeed, was quite pale with dark smudges under his eyes. Napoleon was sure he didn't look too much better, but Illya just looked horrible. The American spy bit his lower lip slightly, not sure what to do. His and Illya's relationship was... different. They often spent lots of time together outside of missions, had dinner together regularly, even participated in some  _other_ activities as well, but he wasn't sure exactly what they were to each other.

Well, that wasn't totally true, Napoleon knew what Illya meant to him. He loved the Red Peril, even if the thought scared the living day lights out of him, he loved him. With that in mind, Napoleon rose from his desk and crossed the room. He placed a hand on Illya's shoulder, causing an immediate reaction from his partner.

The Russian looked up at him with a glare. "What?" he asked, and Jesus, his voice was hoarse as hell. "I'm trying to work, and you should be too." he said, looking back down at his papers and trying to shrug Napoleon's hand off. 

Even through the thick jacket, Napoleon could feel the heat coming off of Illya in waves. It wasn't the usual heat Illya gave off, no, this was different and that caused Napoleon to worry. "Peril, are you feeling alright?" he asked, knowing what would come next.

Illya looked up again, glaring furiously, "I'm fine." he growled out, "Now leave me alone and finish your paperwork." he said, finally getting Napoleon's hand off his shoulder. 

The American sighed and went back to his desk to finish his paperwork, but his attention never left his partner, who seemed to just deflate further and further as the night wore on. When Napoleon finished his paperwork, Illya was still there, working on his. And it that wasn't worrisome, than nothing was. Illya was always the first one done with his paperwork. "Are you sure you're alright, Peril?" he asked again.

Illya groaned, "For the last time, Cowboy, I am FINE." he said. Napoleon just sighed and walked out of the office. And before he was even out of the building, he had a plan in mind.

\-----

It was nearing midnight when Napoleon put his plan into action. He stopped by a diner that was open 24/7 and bought a nice big container of soup before heading over to Illya's apartment. Napoleon knew where it was, he spent a good amount of time there. He and Illya usually split up the time between each of their own apartments. Napoleon climbed the stairs in Illya's building and up to the Russian's door. Napoleon knocked and expected Illya to answer the door, but he didn't. Napoleon knocked again and waited, perhaps Illya had been asleep, whenever he had knocked on the door before and the Russian had been asleep, it had woken him up. 

There was still no answer.

So Napoleon reached into his pocket and pulled out his spare key, unlocking the door and stepping inside. The place was just as neat as it always was, and horribly spartan in terms of decoration, but that was Illya. Napoleon set down the bag of food, wondering perhaps if Illya wasn't home yet, when he heard a groan come from the bedroom, followed by a sickening cough. Napoleon froze for a moment before leaving the kitchen and heading down the hall to Illya's bedroom. The door was open and all the lights out, but Napoleon could make out the prone figure of his partner laying atop the sheets, the covers kicked off. 

Napoleon slipped into the room and across the floor, flipping on the bedside lamp as he reached the other side. The sight that greeted him was not one Napoleon wanted to see. Illya looked even worse than before. His face was practically ashen, save for two spots of color high on his cheeks, his hair matted down with sweat, his clothes were soaked through as well. His breathing was labored and each time he inhaled, Napoleon could hear the rattle. The American sat down on the edge of the bed, the Russian remained asleep which worried him even more, and pressed the back of his hand to Illya's forehead.

His face was slick with sweat and burning hot. Napoleon sighed, "Fine my ass." he muttered before gently shaking his partner's shoulder. "Illya, Illya wake up." he said gently. It took a moment before Illya's eyes fluttered open. 

"Cowboy." Illya managed, his voice sounding more hoarse than it had earlier that night. "Wha-what are you doing here?" he asked, his brow knitting together with confusion.

Napoleon sighed again, "Checking up on you, you idiot." he said. Illya opened his mouth to reply, but Napoleon cut him off. "Don't even try, you're burning up and you're pale as a sheet, not to mention that I could hear you hacking up a lung from the kitchen." he said. Illya had enough sense to look bashful, avoiding Napoleon's gaze. 

Napoleon watched him for a moment before raising his hand gently to Illya's head, stroking his sweat damp hair. "You're sick Illya." he said and the Russian nodded, "Probably from that night you spent out in the rain." he added. "Now, I've brought some medicine and some soup, you're going to take the pills and eat a little and then you can go back to sleep." Napoleon said. Illya simply nodded again.

Napoleon stood and went back to the kitchen, thankfully, the soup was still warm, so he poured some into a bowl, poured a glass of water, and gathered the medicine from the bag he had brought before going back into Illya's room. When he returned, the Russian was propped up on some pillows and looking painfully adorable despite his haggard appearance. He had an expression on his face that he was adamant was not a pout, but was most  _definitely_ a pout. Napoleon sat down the soup and had Illya take the medicine.

He handed his partner the bowl and watched and Illya ate about half the bowl before handing it back. "I- I am sorry, I can not eat more." he said, looking down.

Napoleon took the bowl back and cupped Illya's cheek. "Don't apologize Illya, you're sick, it's okay if you can't eat all of it, now, lay back down." he said. He helped Illya get situated on the bed before standing up. What he didn't expect was Illya's hand to shoot out and grab his.

Napoleon looked down at his partner who was looking everywhere but at him. "Will.... will you stay?" he asked. Napoleon frowned, Illya was rarely even like this, only when he was sca- oh. Napoleon had nearly forgot about fever dreams, and Illya's fever was definitely high enough for those, not to mention the nightmare ammo his brain must have. 

Napoleon smiled at him, "Of course." he said and watched his partner instantly relax. Napoleon laid out on the bed, head propped up on pillows. Illya immediately curled around him, resting his head on Napoleon's chest. Napoleon's hand came up to Illya's head again, stroking him gently. "Sleep, Illyusha, I'll be right here." he whispered, feeling Illya relax against him, his breathing evening out until he was fast asleep. It didn't take long before Napoleon followed.

And that was where he awoke the next morning, with Illya's too warm body curled around his, Napoleon's own fingers still tangled in his partner's hair.


End file.
